


Flour

by cassiem



Category: Block B
Genre: M/M, flour???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiem/pseuds/cassiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taeil and Jihoon try to bake a cake, except it all goes wrong…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flour

“I don’t know why you baited me into this, Jihoon.” Taeil grumbles as he sieves flour into a mixing bowl aggressively. “Or why I let myself get baited into this.”

Jihoon nudges him with his elbow and smiles down at him, his eyes crinkling up, and Taeil has to sternly remind his knees not to tremble under the weight of that smile. “Because, hyung, you love me.”

“Unfortunately.” He mutters, dodging out of the way of Jihoon’s kick expertly.

Lazy Sunday afternoons in the dorm are always nice; unlike Saturday, where the others are in-and-out, in-and-out all day, it’s often a day of relaxation. They usually spend it in bed, not even bothering to put on clothes or leave the room. Today, however, he’d been awoken at 10 – an ungodly time – by Jihoon peppering kisses all over his face, whining.

“Hyung.” He mumbled, in between kisses. “Hyung. Wake up. Hyung. Taeil hyung.”

Taeil had rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head, groaning incomprehensibly into the mattress. Jihoon hadn’t abated, however, and had just ripped the pillow away. “Hyung, Taeil hyung. Get up, I’m bored. Wanna bake a cake.”

“You want to fucking what?” He had grumbled, but Jihoon had persisted and now here they are, standing in the tiny dorm kitchen, trying to make a chocolate cake even though they are missing half the ingredients, Jihoon with one of Kyung’s long-sleeved shirts tied around him haphazardly as there is only one apron.

Jihoon picks up his phone from the bench and stares at it worriedly, flicking a glance at the bag of flour sitting in front of them – the same flour that Taeil is sifting carelessly.

“Does it make a difference if we don’t have self-raising flour?” Jihoon asks, chewing his bottom lip.

Taeil slams the sieve down in the bowl, sending a puff of flour into the air, and rolls his eyes desperately. He’s not a great cook, but spending years in his parent’s restaurant taught him a thing or two, and out of the two of them he’s definitely the most qualified one. Not that that’s saying much.

“For god’s sake, Jihoon. _Yes_ , it matters a great deal.” He knits his eyebrows together, but he’s not _really_ angry, and Jihoon can see through it straight away. “How is the cake going to raise otherwise?”

Jihoon presses a kiss to Taeil’s forehead – one of those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it ones he’s so fond of – and frowns, turning back to his phone. “Keep sifting. I’ll work it out.”

Silently, Taeil does as he’s told, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he watches Jihoon out of the corner of his eye. He admires the way the light streaming in the window catches the strands of Jihoon’s hair, turning them from a dull brown to the colour of fire, lighting up his whole face.

“I’ve got it!” Jihoon looks up to find Taeil staring at him, the sieve forgotten in his hands.

Taeil looks down and continues, surprised to find a blush rising on his cheeks. Jihoon and he have been a thing for a while now – it’s coming up to a year – but he still finds himself blushing whenever Jihoon catches him staring, or kisses him unexpectedly.

“We can use bicarb soda.” Jihoon declares, standing up on the balls of his feet to rummage through the cupboard above their heads. His shirt rides up and Taeil represses a sudden urge to grab Jihoon by the waist, intoxicated by the pale skin that’s exposed. “The internet said so.”

Sighing, Taeil shrugs. “Alright. I don’t know how many times Jiho and I have told you to not trust anything on the internet, but I’ll concede this once, because it’s right.”

Jihoon turns, a rather rumpled packet of bicarb soda in his hand, his eyes accusing. “You knew? And you didn’t tell me?”

Taeil just smiles at him, and any irritation that was on Jihoon’s face evaporates and he smiles back. He sways closer, close enough for Taeil to feel his body heat, close enough for him to break out in goosebumps as the younger man leans down and kisses him, just a brief press of lips to lips – enough for a shiver to run down his spine, like the feather-light fingers of ghosts.

“Don’t distract me.” Jihoon mutters, his lips still on Taeil’s, voice so low Taeil feels it in his stomach.

“Hurry up, then.” He replies, his voice shifting up an octave on the last syllable, exposing the lust that’s winding its way through his bloodstream.

Jihoon winks at him and, in one fluid movement, turns to the bowl of flour that Taeil has just sieved and dumps the whole box of bicarb soda into it, a smug smile on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing!” Taeil yelps, shoving Jihoon away, staring down at the bowl helplessly. “You’ve just fucked it up, Jihoon.”

Jihoon pouts. “The article said to use a lot!”

“Not – ” He pauses to look at the box, “ – not two hundred fucking grams of it!”

“Sorry.” Jihoon splutters, but Taeil can tell instantly he’s not really sorry.

He drags the back of his hand across his forehead messily and sighs, staring down at the bowl. Jihoon hadn’t even sieved it, he’d just dumped it all in, so unless he can scoop some out – and he doubts he’ll be able to get rid of enough, anyway – he’ll have to start again.

Oh, well. It’s not like he has anything better to do with his time. Ignoring Jihoon, who is still standing off to the side pouting, he grabs a pinch of the bicarb soda that’s sitting on top of the flour and throws it in the sink.

“Hyung.” Jihoon says. “Hyung, you’ve got something in your hair.”

When he turns to look at Jihoon, he knows instantly that he’s made a mistake – the maknae has a slick smirk on his face that only means trouble. He watches helplessly in slow motion as Jihoon throws a fistful of flour directly at his head, which thanks to his height, hits its target, spraying Taeil with white powder.

“Don’t –” He warns, but Jihoon comes for him again, so he reacts instantly and grabs the bowl of sieved powder and throws it at Jihoon…

...Where it hits him smack in the chest, exploding, coating Kyung’s shirt with white and making the air dense.

They stare at each other for a long, long moment, both breathing heavily, before they both snap at once, reaching for the packet of flour that lays on the bench between them. Taeil gets there first and grabs it, upending it on Jihoon as best he can – but his height impedes him, and he pours it on Jihoon’s shoulder instead. Jihoon instantly shakes like a dog, the powder drifting down onto Taeil, so in response he shoulder charges the younger man, rubbing up against him so as to transfer as much flour as he possibly can.

But Jihoon doesn’t give up that easily and he wriggles away from Taeil – his sleeve catching the eggs that lay on the bench, sending those crashing down as well – and scoops the flour off the floor, throwing it at Taeil like snow, smiling gleefully. With a roar, Taeil grabs Jihoon’s wrists to stop him, and –

The mood changes, so quickly he can taste it in his mouth, feel it in the air around them. Jihoon’s smile fades away until he’s staring at Taeil with such intensity that he can’t stand it; his skin feels prickly and hot, and a bead of sweat runs down his back. He can see Jihoon’s pulse jumping in his neck, hears the sound of their breathing, heavy and hot, echoing in the room around them.

They reach for each other, desperate and hungry, completely forgetting the fact that they’re both covered in flour and the kitchen is strewn with it. Jihoon’s mouth is hot and wet and eager, and Taeil rips Kyung's shirt accidentally in his desperation to get to Jihoon’s flesh, the urge for Jihoon overcoming him.

Jihoon’s hands slide down his back, over his ass, wrapping his long fingers around Taeil’s thighs and lifting, pulling him up and close so they’re eye to eye. Taeil automatically wraps his legs around Jihoon’s waist, marvelling at the way they look so _right_ together like this, even covered in flour as they are.

Jihoon deposits him unceremoniously on the kitchen table, his lips delving to Taeil’s neck and collarbone, kissing and nipping, being rewarded with Taeil’s moans, bubbling up through his throat like water skipping over stones. The knowledge of their lust together, of Jihoon’s need for him and for his need of Jihoon consumes him until he’s brimming, overflowing, unable to cope as he pulls the younger man back for a kiss, feeling like he’s flying as Jihoon’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, his hands helping Taeil out of the apron and his shirt.

“Hyung.” Jihoon moans into his mouth, his hands pushing Taeil back so he’s lying on the table, the wood surprisingly warm on his back, and then delving lower to yank and tug at his belt.

He’s writhing now, limbs twitching helplessly as Jihoon’s fingers dip slowly – slowly – underneath his waistband, teasing and drawing it out, because Jihoon loves to see him like this. He’s just about to speak, even though he doesn’t know if he can form words, when a familiar voice rings out through the room.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Jiho yells, and Taeil sits up to see him in the doorway, hands clapped over his eyes. “What the fuck are you two _doing?”_

Their relationship isn’t a secret by any means, but they don’t like to flaunt it, either; so of course Jiho had picked _this_ moment to drop by the dorm. He looks back at Jihoon to see the maknae grinning widely as he bends down to hand Taeil his shirt.

“We were cooking.” Jihoon replies reasonably, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to start out cooking and end up fucking your bandmate on the kitchen table.

Jiho’s fingers part a fraction and then drop altogether as he realises they have ceased, but he still has a funny expression on his face. “Did a fucking bomb go off? Why is there flour _everywhere?_ Why’s it on the ceiling?” He looks at them and blinks. “Why is it all over the both of you?”

Jihoon opens his mouth, but Jiho shakes his head, holding up a hand. “You know what? Forget I ever asked.” His eyes move from them to the kitchen which, indeed, does look like a flour bomb has gone off. “Just clean this shit up.”

“Yessir.” Jihoon says, standing to attention and saluting, not dodging Taeil’s kick in time and wincing as it lands on his knee.

“No more fucking on the goddamned kitchen table, either.” Jiho throws over his shoulder as he turns and disappears down the hall, no doubt to moan to Kyung over what he’s just saw and how he’ll never recover from the trauma.

Taeil looks at Jihoon, at the kitchen, and back at Jihoon, suddenly unable to contain his laughter. “Come on.” He gulps between laughs, sliding off the table and heading to the sink. “We should clean this up.”

“Sure.” Jihoon nods, following him and slipping his arms around Taeil’s waist, his chest hot on Taeil’s back. “But I want to continue this later… You know, minus the flour.”

Taeil dips his head to hide his smile. “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> hello yes it's 4 am I can't remember my name but HERE HAVE THIS 
> 
> unimaginative title because i suck
> 
> I was browsing the taepyo tag on tumblr and [saw an interaction between taeilliesgirl and an anon of hers](http://taeilliesgirl.tumblr.com/post/138193733706/po-and-taeil-trying-to-bake-but-somehow-a-fist); got inspiration, asked if I could write it, and here we are. Thank you so much taeilliesgirl for letting me write this!


End file.
